Thirty Missions
by Guitargirl222
Summary: Thirty missions Clint and Natasha went on that show the progress of their relationship. More or less a drabble Fic. Hawkeye/Black Widow with mild Stony, Pepperony, Science Bros, and Tony/everything.
1. Beginning

Beginning.

"But, Director Fury! I'm doing fine on my own. I don't need an assistant-"

"Barton, just stop." Nick Fury, director of the Avengers project at S.H.I.E.L.D whirled on the young man before him. Ever since the board had announced that Clint was not strong enough to work on his own, after his injury, and they were appointing another assassin to work with him, this was all Director Fury heard of.

"But, sir..." Barton pleaded, spreading his hands. Fury could see the disappointment in his eyes, but could do nothing about it.

"I'm sorry, son. There's nothing I can do about it. This is beyond me and my control, and the board is worried about you. After you took that blow-"

"I'm fine!" Clint screamed. He was shaking and his fists were clenched. He hated when people talked about his injury in a condescending way. As if it made him weaker. He was fine, he had recovered, and he was stronger now because of it. Just because he got hit once doesn't mean he needs extra help, and certainly not help from a girl. He was fine.

On an assassination mission, Clint, working as his superhero alias, Hawkeye, had been watching a couple who was supposed to be the next target for this specific Gang. His job was supposed to be to take out the leader of the operation as a warning. While he was focusing in, one of the other mob members came up behind him and stuck a shiv into the flesh just below his shoulder. Is wasn't deep enough to be fatal, but just enough to keep him in the hospital for more days than the board generally overlooks.

They decided to take him off a couple of missions, and let him take a lot of recovery time. That was babying him enough, but now to add a girl to his plans? One that supposed to "help" with his work? This was too far.

"I'm fine, Director Fury," Clint said, shaking his head. "You can just tell the board that I don't need-"

Fury sighed. "Boy, I want this just about as much as you do. You think I need another amateur to train? No. Plus, what the board does is beyond my control. Even if I wanted you to keep going solo, their judgement overrules mine. You're getting this partner and that's that. Honestly, Barton. You'd think an eighteen-year-old boy would be able to take this kind of thing."

"Fury, I'm twenty-one." Clint sighed.

"Good," Director Fury admonished. "You'll be needing a woman in your life at some point, we're just giving you a little help... In more ways than one."

Clint scoffed and stepped backwards as the Director laughed and walked off to his office. He didn't need any help from S.H.I.E.L.D., no matter what he was doing. He can kill people just as easily as he could get a girl, right?

Barton shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. Since it was Saturday and he didn't leave for his next assignment until Wednesday, he was in casual wear; blue jeans, and a red t-shirt.

Because he wasn't currently with a girl, as Director Fury had so kindly pointed out, Clint stayed at S.H.I.E.L.D. The rooms were small, but it was home. Clint stayed not far from the hospital wing of S.H.I.E.L.D because he got injured so frequently. Especially because of the last one...

Clint shook his head. He wouldn't think about that right now. Right now he had to think about what he was going to do about this girl who's supposed to be his new partner. He was hardly an expert assassin, he knew that, but he was still efficient enough that the job was always done right. They didn't call him Hawkeye for nothing...

Clint snorted at his own joke and kept walking. For some reason Agent Hill and three other guards were all standing around looking like confused idiots they are, mumbling something about a missing person in the headquarters.

Clint shook his head and turned back to his room, the key was around his neck, it almost always was. It always had been, and that's where it stays unless it was on his bedside table. But, since Clint wasn't home that often, it mostly stayed around his neck.

As he was turning the key in the lock, he could hear the guards behind him go running down the hall in the opposite direction. They were yelling in hushed tones at each other, but there was one word that Clint caught that rang in his ears like a bell. Romanoff.

He wondered who this Romanoff person was, and more importantly, if they were dangerous. For a brief moment, Clint considered going to the armory to get his bow and a few arrows, but then remembered that he had them in his room, because he had been too lazy after training to take them back.

He thought that perhaps a he should grab one of the pistols from his desk but his thoughts were interrupted when the lock clicked and he opened the door and was face-to-face with one.

"Hands up, behind your head. Barton, I take it?" A voice said through the darkness that still lingered in the unlit bedroom. Clint made a move toward the light-switch, but stopped when he heard the gun cock.

Clint then moved away and complied to the voice's demands. Thought he couldn't see the offender, he could vaguely make out the shape of a man standing next to his bed. Clint slid into the room and set his key down on the nightstand next to the door.

The man who had the gun pointed at his head moved to Clint's left, and the two of them turned counterclockwise. The attacker getting closer to the door, and Clint closer to his bed.

"Well," the voice started speaking again, though the time, Clint noticed, in a less manly voice. "It's been a pleasure. I'll just take this and be off." The attacker waved the gun around a bit and then moved their hand toward the doorknob.

"Wait!" Clint was surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth, but the offender listened and stopped moving. "Who even are you?"

The offender laughed. It startled Clint, because it wasn't a deep, hearty laugh, but a light, almost girly laugh. The offender threw their head back when they laughed too, which struck Clint as a slightly more feminine attribute. As the offender kept laughing, Clint moved inconspicuously closer to the light-switch next to the bathroom.

The offender sighed when they finished laughing and looked back up to look at Clint again, but had to whip their head, and their hand, around to find them, and by time they did, Clint had flipped the switch.

The attacker winced and shielded their face, and Clint took the opportunity to move across the room and pull the gun out of the offenders hand.

He took a step back and pointed it at them, only to be met with a wide pair of green eyes staring back at him. Clint froze. The attacker standing at his bedside was a... Girl? And a pretty one at that...

She was tall, but not as tall as Clint, and curvy. She had not-quite shoulder-length bright red hair. Clint wondered if it was dyed, but got a little distracted by the young girl's eyes. She looked about his age, maybe a little younger, and had the brightest green eyes Clint had ever seen.

They were a green the color of grass, but not a dying sort of kind. It was more of a lush, well-watered grass green. Only a shade or two darker. And when she looked a thin like that, with such fear and anticipation in her eyes, she looked beautiful.

Clint felt his chest grow tight. His fists clenched, and he took a step back. The girl smiled. Seeing her relax made Clint smile too, for a moment.

Then, before he knew it, the girl had kicked the gun out of his hand, rushed forward, and shoved him against the bed, causing him to fall on top of it. She turned around and grabbed the gun and pointed it at him just as he was getting back onto his feet.

"Agent Barton, this really has been a pleasure. I'd say we should do it again sometime, but I don't make a habit of getting too friendly with my co-workers." She lowered the gun to her side and turned for the door.

"But," Clint started. The girl turned back to look at him even though she was halfway out the door. "I don't even know your name!"

The girl smiled. She tossed her hair and looked down the hall before glancing back at Clint.

"Romanoff. Agent Natasha Romanoff. I'd say this is the beginning of a great friendship, wouldn't you, Agent Barton? Catch you later."

She closed the door and left Clint in his now very quiet room, with her words still ringing in his ears.

_Beginning. _


	2. Accusation

Accusation.

_Clack. Clack. Clack. _

"So you see, everything is running according to plans. Thor and Steve will be taking some time off,Tony-" Nick Fury was cut off by the clacking noise behind him growing steadily louder. "One moment, please."

"Director Fury! We have a little issue with the trip Clint and I will be taking next week to Saint Petersburg. I checked online and it says-" Natasha Romanoff came walking into the room, holding out a paper when she was met by the steely glare of Director Fury's one good eye.

"Miss Romanoff. I don't know how many times I need to tell you, if there's a problem with your travel plans, then you need to take it up with the travel agent assigned to your trip." Nick Fury sighed and turned back away from the young assassin. He was about to redial the board when he heard a cough from behind him.

Natasha was still standing there, with an annoyed look on her face. "Mr. Fury, I'm not an inexperienced traveller as you should know at this point. I have already spoken with the agent in charge of this trip, and she is claiming that an order came in from one of the people in charge of the trip to change the room. Sir, the only people who could change the arrangements are me, you, and Barton. Personally, I'm very offended that he would have done such a thing and I want it changed back."

Natasha finished her rant and looked up at the Director, expecting to see and angry or disappointed expression on his face because of what had happened, but she was instead met with a confused look.

"Agent Romanoff," Director Fury started. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Now, I don't want to hear _anything out of your mouth_," Director Fury shot at her as a response to Natasha opening her mouth to protest and then closing it firmly again. "So, let's get this straight, shall we? The order for the rooms you and Barton will be staying in has been changed, correct? And I haven't changed them, and I'm guessing you didn't either. So, that leaves Barton. Let's go talk to him."

Natasha was confused as to how this was going to work if she couldn't talk, but followed him when Director Fury turned and started walking towards Clint's room.

When they arrived, Fury banged on the door.

"Barton, open up! I've got someone here who is not very happy with you..." Fury called.

"Well, Fury," Clint's voice said through the door. "If they're not happy with me that makes me less inclined to open this door."

Natasha could hear him chortle, sighed and stomped over to the door, in front of Fury, and broke her vow of silence.

"Barton, it's me. If you don't open this door right now I will shoot it down and then come in and shoot you." Natasha growled.

"Hiya, Nat. It's so nice to hear from you. How's everything?" Clint responded, seemingly unperturbed.

"Barton!" Natasha yelled, kicking the door.

Clint opened the door with a surprised look on his face. "What's the matter with you, Romanoff? Is everything okay?"

"Barton-" Director Fury took a step forward, but Natasha cut in front of him and slapped Clint.

_Smack. _

Clint recoiled, holding his cheek. Director Fury's jaw dropped. Natasha took a step backward, panting hard.

Clint was the first to recover. "You hit me!" He yelled at Natasha. Instead of apologizing, though, Natasha just sighed and stepped back into place next to Director Fury who was utterly unamused.

"Barton, I just wanted to clarify something with you," Director Fury said. "Could you tell me exactly what the order for your rooms for Saint Petersburg were?"

Natasha scoffed, but Fury turned around and gave her a smug look. She smiled and they both turned to look back at Clint who looked confused and a little bit startled at this point.

"Um, I don't know. I haven't actually checked it online yet... Nat and I both said we wanted separate rooms, right? So, what's the problem?" Clint said steadily.

Director Fury sighed. "There's been a slight mix up with the rooms, that's all, Barton."

"That's all?" Natasha yelped. "This is a big problem, Fury. This is only the third mission Clint and I have been on as partners and I'm not sharing a bed with him!"

Clint's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. "S-sharing?" he sputtered, expecting Director Fury to say that he's kidding, or that it'll be fixed by time they need to be in Saint Petersburg. But the Director just smirked and turned off.

"Thank you, Barton," he called over his shoulder. "That'll be all. Have a safe trip."

Clint just stared after the retreating figure of his superior. Natasha could only do the same, before looking back at Clint. After she saw he was just as appalled by the idea as she was, she relaxed a little.

"Tasha," Clint started and Natasha winced. He only called her Tasha when he was going to say something serious or go over strategies. "What happened to the order? Why are we now sharing a room...?"

Clint looked down at her and Natasha felt her cheeks burn a little as she met his unassuming gaze. If it hadn't been Clint who had changed the order, then Natasha didn't know who had.

"Clint, I'm sorry for all of that," Natasha said. "I'm sorry for threatening you, and for hitting you, and for assuming that it had been you who changed the order. It's just that the only people who can change the order are you, me, and Fury. Because he doesn't approve of us working together in the first place I highly doubt that it was him who changed the order, so that just left you. I'm sorry that I accused you of that. I should have figured that yo wouldn't do that. I apologize."

Clint raised an eyebrow at Natasha. He hadn't known the girl for very long, but one thing he did know about her was that when she apologized, she really meant it. And Clint took that to heart.

"It's alright, Tasha. I would have reacted the same way had I been in your position, so I understand the accusation. I just wish you'd put a little more faith in me. So, next time something like this happens, why don't you just come and talk to me, okay?" Clint moved to stand in front of her and rubbed her back lightly.

Natasha nodded. She knew that she had overreacted, and she was glad that Clint forgave her, but there was still one thing nagging in the back of her mind. It was that if she hadn't changed it, Clint hadn't changed it, and Fury claims he wasn't the one who changed it, who else possibly could have?

OooOooO

"Hmm.. Hm.. Hm! Hmmmm..." Tony danced around the lab pushing buttons on various screens, humming out a tune that was very much irritating Bruce, to the point where he had to leave the room. Tony hadn't minded, though, he was expecting someone anyway. "Hmm, Mhmm, hmmm!"

"Stark!"

Tony whirled around to see just the guest he was expecting. From his place in front of one of the smaller screens in the center of the room, Tony pulled up the travel agency's hacked page and let Director Fury in.

"Hello, Fury. What brings you here on this fine day?" Tony smiled in anticipation.

Fury shook his head. "I'm guessing it was you who changed the room order, Stark?"

Tony, feigning hurt walked towards the director, with one hand dragging the screen behind him and the other over his chest.

"Why, Director! I'm offended that you'd even assume such a thing! What a rude accusation! The plans could have been changed by anyone who knew the administrator's password. And, really, Nick, your birthday wasn't that hard to guess."

Instead of the Director shouting at Tony like he had anticipated, the Director threw his head back and laughed.

"I'll have to change that," he said, still stifling a few laughs. "Gave Romanoff and Barton quite the scare."

Tony smirked. "Well, sir, I was just trying to get him laid. It's about time..." At this, Fury laughed a bit more.

"Well, Stark, you've had your fun and hopefully Barton'll have his, but get back to work! I need that formula by Friday. And where's Banner?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair and shrugged innocently. Director Fury began to laugh one more time as he left the room.

The stories of Clint and Natasha's trip ought to be interesting.


	3. Restless

Restless

"Have a nice stay and please, let us know if there's anything else we can get you." The Russian attendant said with a smile as she directed Clint and Natasha to their room.

While Clint was unlocking the door, Natasha thanked her in Russian. When they got inside, the room was bigger than they had thought it would be. There was a small kitchen before the closed door that led to the bedroom, and a bathroom next to that.

Clint grabbed the bags and took them into the master bedroom. Natasha followed close behind and collapsed first thing on the bed when she got in there. Clint laughed, but she was exhausted from the jet lag. And, even though it was only 4:30 in the afternoon, Natasha took a nap.

During the two hour nap Natasha took, Clint went out to get dinner and some coffee so she could be well fed when she woke up. Turns out, that was not long after Clint had gotten back.

"Hey..." Natasha came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Clint handed her some coffee and a piece of toast. The two of them sat and chatted for a little while before deciding to go to sleep.

"Nat, I'm grabbing bathroom first, okay? I'll take a quick shower and then it's all yours, deal?" Clint asked, grabbing his toiletries and a towel. Natasha barely noticed, though, she hadn't slept well earlier, and wasn't listening to much of anything that Clint had to say.

While he was in the shower, she got changed and climbed into bed and put all of her things back in her bag. She was setting the alarm when Clint came out in his towel.

"Jeez, Barton, cover up!" Natasha yelled, chucking the pen on the nightstand at him. Kind of pathetic, but it was the only non-lethal item she had on hand at the time. Clint laughed and pretended like the towel was slipping, much to the discomfort of Natasha, who started yelling at him again.

"Hah. You heading in there, Nat?" Clint asked, gesturing towards that bathroom while he pulled his shirt on.

"Yeah," she said, throwing the blanket off of her legs and standing up. Clint finished getting changed and climbed into bed while Natasha went in and washed up. They had agreed over dinner that they would each take half of the bed and try not to cross over to the other person's side. Since Natasha had already been lying on one side of the bed, Clint took the other one.

Not long after Clint had settled in, Natasha emerged from the bathroom and crawled back into bed. She leaned over and hit the lighswitch, only muttering a "Night, Barton" to Clint before turning her back to him.

Thinking this to be the improper way of saying goodnight, Clint wrapped an arm around Natasha's waist, and pulled up close behind her. He could feel her tense, but nonetheless proceeded to kiss the back of her head and whisper goodnight in her ear.

"Night, Tash, sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning, hon." When Clint had finished and heard what he thought to be a sigh of contentment come from Natasha, he rolled back over to the far side of his part of the bed, giving Natasha plenty of space. He fell asleep practically seconds after he shut his eyes.

OooOooO

1:30 a.m.

Natasha groaned. The clock couldn't possibly be accurate. It couldn't still be that early in the morning. She rolled over to check on Barton.

He was lying almost completely off the bed, he was so far away. His torso was almost completely straight on it's side, but his legs were curled in quite a bit. He had one hand underneath his pillow, supporting it, and the other one lying on top of it, right across from his face.

Natasha hadn't realised how close she had moved to Clint until she could hear his breath. A steady, calm pace, which was reflected through the expression on his face. It was serene, very relaxed. _"A strange way to see Clint,"_ Natasha thought, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair.

Clint's nose crinkled at the action, and Natasha moved backward quickly. Too quickly, perhaps, because Clint began to stir. His eyes blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness, and he passed a hand over them for a moment before turning over to look at Natasha.

He seemed a little surprised to see her awake, but smiled when he caught her gaze. Natasha couldn't help but smile back at him, and reached her hand out to stroke his hair again, but once it was on his head, he put his hand on top of hers, and held it there for a minute.

Clint then slowly dragged the hand over his face to his mouth and kissed her palm, whereafter he released her hand altogether. She smiled and blushed at the small, but fairly intimate action. The then mentally scolded herself for doing so because he was just being friendly and he couldn't see her blush anyway. Right?

Natasha didn't have much time to dwell on this, though, because Clint had begun to speak.

"Hey... You okay, Nat? What's wrong?" Clint asked sleepily. Natasha shook her head, and her hair fell in her face, but she looked up at Clint anyway. He reached his hand out and brushed a lock out of her face, causing the part of her cheek where his fingers had brushed to tingle.

"Just having a little trouble sleeping, that's all." She replied in a voice that she hoped sounded nonchalant. She couldn't quite tell if it had worked or not, but Clint moved toward her anyway. He wrapped one arm around her waist and the other on the back of her head and gently pulled her into a hug, which she returned.

When they pulled out of it, Clint was looking at her concernedly. She smiled and nuzzled back into his chest. Clint moved one of his hands and began stroking Natasha's hair in a calming fashion.

"You know, Nat," Clint began softly. "When I was little, and I had trouble sleeping, my mom always used to come in and sing to me. Or she'd tell me a really goofy story. Did your parents ever do anything like that? Something to help you sleep?"

Natasha didn't say anything, she just shook her head and moved closer to Clint. He pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. He kept stroking her hair as the two of them laid in a moment of silence.

"Is it just bad dreams? You slept earlier, maybe ore just not tired anymo-"

"No." Natasha mumbled from Clint's chest.

"Hmm?"

"I said no, Clint," Natasha moved away from his chest a little bit to look up at him. "I didn't sleep earlier, I can't sleep now, and my parents were never there when I couldn't sleep!" she cried, falling back into his arms.

Clint held her tightly and went back to stroking her hair, occasionally dropping a kiss on the top of her head. He moved the hand that wasn't in her hair to the small of her back and started drawing lazy circles.

"You know, Tash," Clint began softly. "There was one story my mom used to tell me when I was little, about a little red-haired girl? Do you want to hear it?" He asked Natasha who nodded her head a little, tickling Clint's chest. He laughed lightly and proceeded.

"There was once this little girl with bright red hair. She lived in a large kingdom ruled by a wise and handsome king. The little girl lived not too far from the castle with her mother and her father. The girl was very carefree, but had only one friend, a boy. An archer.

"She and the little archer would play for hours in the woods. They knew each other since they were very little, and the two were exactly the same age. For years, every day the little archer would come down just after lunch to go to the woods and play with the little red-haired girl. Every day, that is, until one day, without warning, the boy didn't show up. The little red-haired girl waited and waited but didn't see him. He didn't come the next day, or the day after that. For years, the little girl never saw him again.

"So, the two grew older apart, not seeing eachother at all. The little red-haired girl grew up to be a beautiful maiden, and in regards to a husband, her parents thought she deserved the best. They decided that the only people fit to marry their daughter would be those of royal blood. The next day, she and her family set off for the castle.

"The wise old king had four sons and a daughter. The first three sons had already been married off, and his only daughter was too young to be married. Upon arriving at the castle, the king greeted them and invited them to stay for dinner and meet his youngest son.

"The family agreed and over dinner learned that the king's son was the same age as their daughter. He seemed like a level-headed, wise young man, until the king and the red-haired girl's father began discussing a marriage between the girl and the prince. At this, the boy stood from the table and left the room without any explanation. The king shouted for his guards to go after him, but the red-haired girl stopped him. She struck a bargain with the king. They agreed that if she could convince the prince to return to dinner, then the marriage between the two of them would be approved and gone through with.

"The king said that his son would most likely be in his room, and gave her directions to go there, but she instead left the castle on horseback. She went home, to the woods where she grew up with the little archer boy, with the intentions to think. She hadn't expected to see a man there waiting for her.

"The prince was waiting with a bow in one hand and an empty quiver in the other. 'I knew it was you,' he said to the girl. 'But I couldn't bring myself to face you after all these years. You must have thought that I had abandoned you. Please, let me explain.'

"So the two of them sat and talked for a while, and the boy explained that after his oldest brother had married, his father became obsessed with the idea of making sure that his sons only associated with and behaved like royalty, which also meant giving up archery and being under constant supervision. The girl actually pitied him. She told the prince about the deal she and the king had made, and that they would be wed should he return. Much to the girl's surprise, the prince agreed to return to dinner with her.

"When they returned, the King was overjoyed and agrees to the marriage between the two of them. The little red-haired girl becomes queen and marries her archer boy. They both live happily ever after."

Clint paused for a minute after finishing his story to look down at Natasha. Fast asleep in his arms, just as Clint had predicted. He checked the clock on the nightstand. It read 2:18 a.m. He kissed the top of Natasha's head one last time and nodded off himself.

OooOooO

Next Morning.

Clint was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand, waiting for Natasha to get out of the bathroom.

"Morning, Barton." Natasha said, entering the kitchen, using a hand towel to finish drying off her hair.

Clint nearly choked on his coffee from surprise. Natasha was wearing a pair of sweatpants and the shirt he had worn on the plane yesterday. When she turned around and looked at him she smirked.

"Sleep okay, Nat?" Clint said, trying to regain some composure.

"Yeah, actually. I did." She smiled.

"How far did you make it in the story before you fell asleep?" Clint said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Natasha froze. "Wait, you told me the whole story...?"

Clint shook his head and laughed. "All that work for nothing I see."

Natasha frowned and ran over to him. "I'm sorry, Clint! I was just more comfortable sleeping next to you, and I kind of fell asleep listening to you talk about the little red-haired girl..."

"Tash, it's fine. I'm glad you slept okay after that." Clint went to take another sip of coffee when Natasha leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks, Clint. I'll be back out soon," she said and went back into the bathroom with her cup of coffee.

"No problem, Nat. Happy to do it anytime..." Clint mumbled back into his coffee, trying to ignore the tingling sensation creeping over the area where Natasha's lips had just been.

"Anytime..."


	4. Snowflakes

Snowflakes.

Clint Barton hated the cold. So, while on a mission in the middle of Russia, having to stakeout a skiing trip isn't the most fun thing to do. He had to admit, though, it did have it's perks...

He was stuck on a cliff in the Caucasus mountains, in Russia with Natasha. They two of them were watching a group of potential targets of a certain hostile group, the name of which, Clint could not pronounce.

"Clint, it's simple," Natasha tried to get him to say it again.

"No, Tasha, it's not, I don't speak Russian!" Clint yelled between laughs.

"Shh!" Natasha looked around worriedly. "We're on a stakeout until the terrorist gets here-"

"Nat, we're fine. There's no one here... It's just us up here. Just you and me."

"And snow!"

"Snow...?" Clint looked up. He had been so focused on being close to Natasha that he hadn't noticed the little white flakes falling around the two of them. Natasha smiled, as if the small little offenders brought back a fond memory, but they just made Clint colder.

He shuddered, pulling his arms around him tighter. His bow, which was slung over his shoulder was being pressed uncomfortably into his back, but Clint just took it as a reminder that he still had blood flowing through him, and he wasn't completely frozen yet.

Clint looked back at the mountain. Several couples were coming down at a time. They all seemed so happy and cuddly. It made Clint feel sick to know that those people led completely normal lives, but at any moment one of them could be shot and killed.

"So, what are you thinking about?" Natasha's voice broke though Clint's thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh," Clint shook his head, a few snowflakes falling out of his hair. "I'm just worried for these people. They don't even realize it, but they're targets for one of the most dangerous in Russia." Clint looked down at the snow.

He wasn't paying any attention to anything around him but the sinking feeling in his stomach. You'd think that after three years and who knows how many assassinations Clint's had to carry out, he'd be used to these kinds of things, but every so often he started to feel uneasy with guilt. Was he truly any better than these criminals?

"Yes." Natasha spoke softly. "You are better than them, Clint."

Clint hadn't realized that he'd said all of those things out loud, but was happy to hear someone else actually talk about it for once.

"Clint," Natasha moved closer to him. "You're not like them because you're working to help the people who have been targeted. You're saving so many more lives every time one of these terrorists die. Just because you're taking the life of one man doesn't mean you're not saving those of a hundred others at the same time."

Clint looked up at her. The hard, serious exterior Natasha put up as an assassin was slowly falling, and Clint could see Natasha really cared about this. He wondered how much thought she had given to the subject.

"Thanks, Nat. You always know just what to say..." Clint mused in a voice filled with sarcasm.

Natasha shook her head and kept watching the mountainside. "Whether you want to listen to me or not, I have no say in, Barton. But at some point or another, we all think about it. That's just how I live with myself."

Clint looked back up at her. Her expression was stony and cold, and Clint couldn't quite tell what was going through her mind. Natasha's face was masked by her red hair which was now flecked with snowflakes.

Clint reached a hand out to tuck her hair behind her ear. When his hand brushed her face she turned to look at him. Clint could barely stand looking into her bright green eyes. After the conversation they had just had, he could see the sadness hidden behind them.

For a minute he just held her face in his hand. Natasha didn't seem to mind, as she didn't move away. From the corner of his eye, Clint saw another couple go down the mountainside. He dropped his hand from Natasha's face and turned his attention back to the skiers.

He could hear a sigh escape Natasha's lips, but she returned her attention to the couples as well. The two executed the mission properly and returned home the next day without speaking about their conversation on the mountain again.

**A/N: Hello! First time I've heard from any of you people! I hope you're enjoying the story so far, I've seen a couple of reviews and even some favorites, which makes me really happy. This chapter was short because I got a little behind on yesterday's prompt (snowflakes), and I have no idea what I'm doing for today's. Expect an update tomorrow of a really bad one! **

**Also, if you have any ideas on what I could write for the word "haze," I'd appreciate the help.**


	5. Haze

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I just wanted to say thanks, first of all, to you, for actually reading this. So, thanks! And, for anyone who reviewed, I love you. Also, a really, _really _big thank you to ClumsyAnnaBella for suggesting the plot for this one. I owe her big time. **

**Responses to reviews in case you saw them but I want to respond:**

**Happy Pineapple: Thank you! I didn't mean for it to be so tense, I'm glad you liked it! **

**Meg 123: Yeah, she's pretty hard to write for... She ended up a lot softer than I had intended, but I think after this chapter she'll harden up a bit. **

**ArabianForest: I like that idea! I would write so much for there, but it's Natasha who remembers it fondly and Clint who "remembers it differently" right?**

Haze. (Takes place after the arrival of Clint and Natasha after their successful mission)

"Barton!"

Clint cringed. Every time his voice was screamed through the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D., something bad happened afterward. And if it were Tony Stark, the famous idiot, calling your name, you'd flinch too.

"Barton, good to see you back." Tony came up behind Clint and clapped him on the shoulder. "Where's that lovely partner of yours? I want to hear how your mission went."

Clint stared at the man behind him who had a scheming smile on his face. He didn't quite know how to react to him because he and Tony had never been particularly close, and certainly never talked about any assignment except the ones involving himself. Not to mention the fact that he had called Nat lovely...

"Um, it was fine. Everything went well. Sleeping arrangements were a bit awkward, it was pretty damn cold, but otherwise everything went swimmingly." Clint said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Excellent!" Tony smiled widely. Clint had started to smile too, when Tony's expression became grim and serious. "We should throw you a celebration. A 'Congrats on killing that evil mob dude and not dying' party. What do you think?"

Clint blinked. A celebratory party because he and Nat had finished another mission? It seemed a little strange to Clint, but he figured it couldn't hurt, and agreed to Tony's idea.

"Awesome. Eight o' clock, Stark tower? I'll get everything set up including guests, so all you have to do is show up with your pretty little assistant." Tony offered, still smirking.

Clint swallowed and nodded, forcing himself to smile. Hearing Tony actually talk about Nat, _his _Nat_,_ that way made him want to punch Stark in the face. But since he knew that Tony was just trying to be nice and _friendly _with him, Clint decided to just stand there, and grin and bear it.

"Great. I'll see you at eight, man." Tony patted him on the back one last time and walked of humming to himself.

Clint shook his head. It was going to be a long night...

**OooOooO**

8:09, Stark Tower

"Barton, we don't have to do this." Natasha said to Clint. They were standing on the front steps of Stark Tower. Clint had dragged an unhappy Natasha here, thinking that at least she would enjoy it.

"We do though, Nat," Clint sighed, running a hand through his uncombed hair. "I told Tony we'd be here nine minutes ago."

Natasha checked her watch and sighed at Clint. She had been perfectly content to just stay at home that night and watch whatever was on cable TV, but then Clint showed up and asked her to come here, and she had no choice. He did that cute little puppy-dog face he makes when he really wants something. The face she can't say no to.

So she slipped into a deep purple floor-length beaded dress with an open back and some black heels and left. Clint had insisted she dress up for this, or at least, out of her sweatpants, and she had reluctantly agreed.

So there they were, out in the cool night air, listening to the vibrations from the loud music and enthusiastic people inside Stark tower. No doubt Tony was in the middle of it all, trying to convince Steve and Pepper to come dance with him.

Clint was smirking at the thought of Tony actually convincing Steve to go dance when a door nearly hit him in the face.

He staggered backward, almost into Natasha when Tony's grinning face appeared from inside the Tower. He was wearing tinted sunglasses and had a drink in his hand, and though it was nearly impossible to tell, Tony was drunk.

"Heeey, you..." he said, waving a beckoning hand toward Clint. "And you! You brought your girl too, alright! Come in, come in. We were all waiting for you!"

Tony opened the door further and let the pair in. Natasha was just about to say something about being "Clint's girl" when the buzz of the party hit her.

At least a hundred people crowded into the front room of the tower, most of which were carrying drinks. Many of the others were dancing, and a few others were just standing awkwardly off to the side, murmuring to friends, or even just watching the scene unfold. For Natasha, this petty get-together was nothing more than another annoyance she sought out to get rid of.

She was about to ask Clint what they were going to do here, but when she turned to look at him, he looked like a kid in a candy store. Natasha suspected that he went to about as many parties as she did, which wasn't a lot. So, for a somewhat lonely assassin, it must have been captivating to see so many women in so few clothes. So many drinks, the pounding of the music the buzz of laughter from the already drunks.

She smiled to herself. He really was cute like that. His big brown puppy-dog eyes filled with wonder and his mouth slightly agape. The patterns from the DJ's lights and the dance floor passing over his face, he looked like he was about to dive in.

Natasha walked over to him and put hand on his arm, shaking him from his trance, and causing him to blush a little from surprise. She smiled, and moved her hand down his arm and took him by the hand. Clint's brow furrowed in confusion, but the corners of his lips started to turn upward a little.

"Come dance with me, Barton. That is why you dragged me here, isn't it?" Natasha called with a little smirk, dragging Clint onto the dance floor.

Clint was a bit of an awkward dancer, so he didn't quite know how to start, but Natasha started to sway and move her arms around her, and he thought he could at least try to mimic it. He moved opposite of her, trying to keep up with the awkward gestures and occasionally spinning her.

He spun her one last time for the end of the song and she landed in his arms. Clint froze as Natasha kept laughing. She was really close to him, and he didn't quite know how to react. It had been literally years since he'd been this close to a woman.

These thoughts swimming through his head, Natasha stopped laughing and looked up at him. He caught her green eyes for a minute, before she buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug.

Clint took a step back, surprised by her actions. Natasha pulled out of it before he could do anything else, though, and smiled at him from about an arm's length away.

"Thanks, Barton. It's been a long time since I've been dancing like that. I take it it's been a while for you too...? By the way you were moving..." She laughed.

_"She's so cute when she laughs like that..."_ Clint thought, when Natasha threw her head back to get the hair out of her face. And then cleared his throat when he realized she was probably waiting for a reply.

"Well, you're right. I've never really done that sort of thin-" Clint stammered, someone bumping into him, causing him to push Natasha back just far enough for someone else to complain.

"Eww, oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you? Can't you see I'm walking here?" Some blonde girl whined at Natasha. She snarled and turned back to her date and dragged him off, away from the pair.

Natasha's smile disappeared and she turned back to Clint with her eyebrows all scrunched up. Clint gave her a sympathetic half-smile and reached his hand out to touch her bare arm.

When his fingers brushed her skin, she flinched, and looked up at him, sadly. Clint smiled at how adorable she was being and pulled her into an awkward hug. Natasha smiled, and relaxed, but soon pulled away from Clint when Tony's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Hey, Clint. Getting a little friendly, are we? Nice. Well, come here for a sec. There's someone I want you to meet..." Tony pulled a confused Clint away from their embrace. Clint tripped a little as Tony forcefully pulled him toward a group of girls in short skirts and high heels, away from Natasha. Clint looked back at her one last time, but she was looking down at the floor. He wanted to go back to her, but figured that if he could satisfy Tony, who would undoubtedly keep trying to get him laid, for a short time, he could go back and spend a little more time with Natasha.

Natasha, on the other hand, was a little more focused on what was going to happen now that Clint had left. And wasn't very happy with it. She had wanted to just spend the night dancing and laughing with Clint. So far, he was the only one who she could actually trust. She figured that that may also be because she had to put her life in his hands numerous times every day, but knowing that he would keep her safe anyway was comforting.

Thinking of how nice Clint had been to her so far made Natasha smile. Him being so gentle and comforting and knowing exactly what to say just when she needed it. No one had ever really done that sort of thing for her before.

Still smiling while lost in her thoughts, Natasha snapped and realized she was still in the middle of the dance floor. Seeing as how she wasn't dancing anymore, she felt awkward and hurried away with her face burning.

Her eyes had mostly been focused on the floor while she avoided contact with other people, she did not want a repeat of the blonde girl, and since she wasn't looking where she was going, she crashed right into someone.

Natasha staggered backward and looked up at the man who she'd run into. She opened her mouth to stammer an apology, when Steve turned around and smiled at her.

"Natasha, right? Congratulations on your successful mission! Hey, Pepper, do you have another drink?" Steve shook Natasha's hand and turned back to Miss Pepper Potts who held a martini out to her.

Smiling, Pepper congratulated her too. "Excellent work. I'm glad everything went okay. Martini? Hope you like olives..."

Natasha smiled and took the drink from Pepper. Steve made a toast "To Natasha, for her success!" and the three clinked their glasses and drank, each for their celebration and respective men.

After finishing her drink and being handed another by Pepper, Natasha remember why she was over there and looked to see if she could spot Clint. She thought she had almost caught him when Pepper decided to strike up a friendly conversation.

"So, Natasha. You worked on this with Clint, right?" She asked, politely.

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, Clint is my partner. We do all our missions together."

Pepper smiled. "So did he come with you? Or was he a party pooper?" She laughed at her own joke.

Steve frowned at his drink and put it on a tray someone was carrying off. He looked at her with concern.

"If he did come with you then why isn't he here?"

Natasha frowned. "Well, he's around here somewhere..."

She stopped mid-thought spotting him. For a moment she almost smiled, but as the woman with him moved her body back up from between his legs, any trace of pleasure left Natasha's face.

For an awkward moment, the trio watched them. The woman Clint was dancing with had fake dyed red hair and was wearing a white sequined tank-top and a jean-skirt with tall white boots to match. She seemed very young, but Clint appeared to be enjoying himself, so Natasha forced herself not to be upset. She managed a fake smile and turned back to Pepper and Steve, whose jaw's were on the floor.

"If you guys will excuse me, I think I really should be going now. Thank you for the drinks and such but I really have to go." She handed her drink back to a frozen Pepper who snapped out of her shock when the martini was put in front of her. She snatched Natasha's wrist and pulled her back towards her which triggered Steve to react.

"Natasha, don't you dare let this get to you. Okay? She's just some slut who thought he was cute, okay? He's probably so drunk he doesn't even know what's happening right now and won't remember any of this in the morning, okay? Trust me. It happens to Tony all the time. He'll wake up the morning after something like this with a girl next to him and neither of them will know what happened. It doesn't matter, okay? We still love them even if they're idiots sometimes. We just have to get past that. Okay? Everything will be just fine tomorrow. You'll see."

But Tasha didn't see. She didn't want to see, and didn't hang around long enough to. She thanked Pepper for the words of wisdom, Steve for the praise, and got out of there as fast as she could. The entire way home, the only thing that kept her from not turning around and going back to the party to slap Clint was muttering, "It'll be fine tomorrow. Everything will be fine tomorrow..."

OooOooO

The next day

Clint woke up to the smell of liquor and cheese on a cold sofa. He groaned. Going to Stark's party last night had been a really bad idea. Even worse was taking all those shots with Tony, and he was sure worse had happened but the rest of the night was a bit of a blur after that.

Clint rolled over so his face was in one of the cheese-and-liquor-smelling pillows on the couch. Even though it wasn't directly in his face, Clint could feel the sunlight burning him. His senses were over used last night, so over-stimulated that morning. The sunlight burned, the footsteps down the hall were too loud and whatever was cooking smelled way too strong for someone who had had so much alcohol yesterday...

Clint felt suddenly sick.

He vaguely remembered that if you drank too much you'd vomit the next day, and ran into the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, Steve was brushing in that bathroom. Even more unfortunately, Clint couldn't hold it much longer.

He went to the toilet and heaved. Steve, went from being completely appalled to very worried in seconds and was next to Clint, rubbing his back in calming motions to make him feel better.

Once it had passed, Clint rose and was regaining his balance when a purple toothbrush was thrusted at him.

Clint frowned and looked at it. Steve held it out to his and nodded reassuringly. Clint took it as a sign of hospitality, but something behind Steve's eyes told him otherwise. He took the toothbrush and Steve whipped around to get the toothpaste for him.

They worked in temporary silence, Steve squirted the toothpaste onto his brush and took him to the sink. Once Clint actually began to brush, Steve relaxed.

"At least you can actually stand and think on your own. Sometimes Stark can't even manage it. Makes Pepper brush for him."

Steve chuckled at the memory and Clint forced a smile through the minty foam.

"I have to say, you do hold your liquor well." Steve commended. Clint shook his head softly. If feeling like this meant he had held it well, he would hate to see if he'd had anymore to drink.

"Speaking of good things, how did last night go? Tony briefly explained that there was someone he had wanted to introduce you to, but he didn't really specify..."

Clint spat. And rinsed, and looked back at Steve.

"He did... He introduced me to a couple of his 'lady friends' but it didn't really work out."

Steve furrowed his brow. "Then who was that girl you were dancing with the whole night? You two seemed pretty cozy..."

Clint laughed harshly. "Steve, that was just Natasha. I have to say, though, she was pretty amazing. I think I might be falling for her. When we talked last night... She just seemed so into me, you know? It was like there was this connection-"

"Clint, what are you talking about? You were with Natasha for a whole six minutes last night. She left after you started dancing with that other girl..."

"What other girl? Steve, I-"

Just then the doorbell rang. Steve sighed and left the bathroom. Clint followed in his wake. By time Clint had reached the foyer where Steve was, the door was answered and revealed Natasha, wrapped in a dark coat with a paper bag in her hands.

When Clint saw her his heart skipped a beat. After they way she had treated him last night, there must be something there. He took a step toward her, but she scowled and thrust the bag at Steve, who took it hastily, thanked her, and closed the door.

Clint, appalled, marched up to him and gawked.

"Why'd you do that! What if I wanted to talk to her? I wanted to see how she felt about last night-"

"Clint, I'm telling you. Last night it wasn't Natasha you danced with. It was just some girl Tony invited to the party. Natasha came and talked with me and Pepper after you get dragged off. We drank for a little and talked a bit about the mission, and once she saw you with that other girl, she left. Why do you think she didn't seem pleased to see you just now? She knew you were drunk and figured that you got lucky last night, so she dropped off two days worth of clothes. I think that's a sign that things didn't go very well last night. I'm sorry, son." Steve handed him the bag with a pat on the shoulder, and walked back into the other room.

Clint's shoulders sagged as he looked into the package. Three days worth of clothes. Three. She really didn't want to see him...


End file.
